Phantom's Daughter
by Hope of the Fairies
Summary: Elissa, the stagehand, has always wondered who her parents were. She has always been alone. But when mysterious things start happening in the Opera and Elissa meets someone intriguing down in the catacombs, Elissa's life falls into lies and mysteries.
1. Elissa's World

**Hey everybody!**

**I ADORE Phantom of the Opera but, even though I'm don't hate Raoul so much, I still feel cheated out of a happy ending. I want the Phantom to be happy! I love Eric! **

**So in this story I will try (but maybe not succeed) to continue the story of Phantom. And I will give some back story of how poor disfigured Eric Chevalier became the Brilliant PHANTOM OF THE OPERA. (just picture a really big booming voice saying that.) And by the way I will be taking some artistic license on that. **

**The Opera House is back in business, having had serious work done for the past 15 years, after the infamous accident. No one has had any mischief from the Phantom for a long time. A new generation rules the Opera House and one girl lives in the Opera House as a stagehand and loves the Opera just as much as her parents did...**

**This is the story of Elissa, the orphan stagehand. **

**This is the story of Eric, a brokenhearted Phantom. **

**Prologue **

**Elissa's World**

It had always been a mystery, how I came into this world, and how I came to live in the Opera Populaire. I had always been told that I'd find out someday, but here it was fifteen years and that day had not come. I had no idea who my parents were. I had no last name and I knew nothing of the two people I should call parents. I only have a first name: Elissa.

My caretaker and the ballet instructor, Meg Giry, is the only motherly figure in my life, after her mother died. I was told her mother had been good friends with my parents and had been given full responsibility over me. Meg was also good friends with my mother; they were childhood friends. All I know about my mother is that she too lived in the Opera House her whole life and that she had died soon after giving birth to me. I know nothing of my father. I wonder sometimes who he is or if he is dead too.

I know the Opera House better than any other girls since I have been here since I was a baby. I came here when I was three I think. I could sleep walk my way from the attic where the old props are stored all the way down to the catacombs under the ground; filled with rats and dark corners.

Meg has always chastised me when ever she caught me in the basement. She is still weary of the old Opera Ghost! Everyone knows the stories, how a disfigured man called the Opera Ghost became obsessed with one of the leading sopranos and it led to the destruction of the Opera House. Some of the ballerinas still shriek when they hear the tale, they still believe the silly myth. All I know is that fact of myth, the "Opera Ghost" would have done well to leave the Opera after the disaster. So I never had any fears of meeting a Ghost in any of my explorations of the new Opera.

Never the less Meg worried, and she banned my future explorations. I have to admit, downstairs was dangerous. At any moment a ceiling or wall might cave in, in was so old. And it was a labyrinth, filled with never ending halls and passageways. One could easily get los, or wander into the lake and drown. Lucky for me, I never got lost or stumbled into any traps.

I enjoyed my life at the Opera, parents or no parents. Many though thought that my position was very queer. You see I was the only girl stagehand. Meg had never told me to stop and be a proper girl and become a ballerina or chorus girl. And I was quiet happy with that. You see I'm hopelessly clumsy, and I just don't like singing. But I do love moving the set pieces, pulling open the curtain; painting a backdrop or chair…. I love knowing that I helped put together a piece of art. I guess I just don't like being the center of attention.

Of course because of this the other girls are distant around me. I don't fit in at all. Most of them I consider complete idiots anyway, so I don't mind. So very girly and brainless. They only talk about the latest fashions and boys. I like being on my own. Of course I'm interested in boys; I've had my fair share of crushes. But I hang out with boys; I really can't talk about crushes with them. But fashions, eww no. I despise corsets with a fiery passion. I prefer trousers and a plain white shirt. It's what the boys' wear I know, but dresses are annoying when walking around the crowded backstage.

My life is pretty good. I don't really need an annoying father coming into it and requesting I go to boarding school and wear proper dresses. The Opera is my home, it will be forever.

Not to get sentimental with you though, but I was annoyed as I walked through the crowded hallways. Like most times, at Meg. She had once again caught me sneaking down to the basement and this time she had threatened me with leaving the Opera House. I knew it was only her temper, she could never send me away. But I was still on her bad side

I walked into my room and plopped onto the bed. My room was simple, no prima donnas' room, but it wasn't the room of a stagehand either. It had dark midnight blue walls and a matching four poster bed. I had a dresser, a bathroom with a full sink and shower, and a writing desk. A full length mirror was hung on one wall, surrounded by many performance posters and old opera books. I had a souvenir from ever performance I had ever helped with. At least one person in the audience left there scene booklet behind. The room was lit by hanging gas lamps and candles, the lamps being an added luxury, since Meg knew how I love to read long into the night.

The one thing that had ever been missing from my room was flowers. Flowers are my second love, second only to the Opera Populaire. How I envied all of the singers and ballerinas who got bouquet after bouquet after each performance. They got them from family members and lovers, of which I had none. I'd never gotten any flower after a performance. The prima donna, Marguerite de Tourney got millions of flowers. I've only been in the prima donnas' room twice; the first time I sneaked in after an opening gala. The room was filled with every kind of flower you could imagine! Marguerite is spoiled, though sweet. She has a beautiful voice and is kind to me. I've heard horror stories of the previous diva from the old conductor, M. Reyer. (He isn't conducting anymore, not since the accident, but he visits sometimes.) But I'd like just once to get some flowers, even a simple rose would do!

I heard a knock on the door and groaned.

"Come in!" Antoine walked in and I sat in a more lady like manner. He smirked at my sudden movement and annoyed expression. Antoine and I were friends; he just liked to drive me nuts.

"Madame Giry wants to see you on stage, by the prop closet. She says it's urgent. I followed him out of the room.

"Did she say why she wanted me?" This was weird; usually after we fought she wouldn't speak to me for hours.

"You know her," he said, "She just hollered for someone to get Elissa."

"I wonder why." I walked onto the right backstage and Meg rushed over to me. Now one thing you should know about Meg, is that she used to be this sweet little thing (I only know this from Reyer.) but ever since her mother died a couple of years back she ruled the Opera House with an iron fist. Taking after her mother, the strictest Frenchwomen you could ever meet.

"Good Elissa, thank god, merci Antoine, "she said as she took my arm. Antoine left, still looking confused.

"What's this about Meg, what's…?" I didn't finish as I looked on the stage and saw the other stagehands trying to hoist up one of the backdrops.

"Why is that backdrop down?" I asked, "It's not being used in this performance…."

"It fell," Meg said curtly, "On Mademoiselle Marguerite."

"Non! Is she okay?"

"She's fine, just a little bit shocked."

"You can't possible think I…"

"No. I do not blame you. And it's not the other stagehand's fault either."

"Why do you need me then?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," she said and I noticed for the first time what she was holding. It was a plain white envelope, opened already so I could not tell what the red seal had looked like. She noticed I was looking and quickly put away the note.

"What's that?"

"A letter, nothing of importance. Elissa, you should go help them." I went to help them get everything in order for the next rehearsal and Meg left. Antoine came back to me.

"What did Madame Giry need from you then?"

"Nothing really; just to tell me what happened. See if I was alright."

"Alright."

"I don't know, maybe because of the fight we had." I suspected more than that but I didn't tell Antoine. As soon as I could get off the stage I rushed to Meg's apartments; making sure she was still on the stage. Being the ballet instructor meant she had the biggest rooms and I sneaked into the frequently. I was lucky, she was yelling at someone, and I crept over to the writing desk. The letter was not there, but after some searching I found it hidden under a pile of old fabric order forms. The front was plain, but the seal was a shape I could only figure out after I folded it back together.

A red skull.

Who one earth would be sending Meg a note with a red skull stamp? No wonder she looked so flustered. I opened the letter and find a plain piece of parchment inside. Was it from a lover? I had never known Meg to have a courter, and I used to make up stories that she had a tragic romance in her youth. But a lover would never send a skull stamp on a love note. Was it an enemy, was she in danger?

I turned the parchment paper over and there was only one sentence in excellent calligraphy.

_I'm Back_

**If you don't know who the letter is from you are a fail. **

**And go and re watch your movie/musical/ or read the book again!**

**Cliff hanger huh? So did you like? If you like, please review! It will help me get the next chapter up faster! Please I beg you!**_  
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	2. Life After Death

Here's the next chapter! This is from Eric's point of view, and yes, I have taken some artistic license, especially with how old he is, but I didn't want to make too old. I haven't explained where Eric went the past couple of years, but that will come up in later chapters. Thank you so much for any one reading this, and those you reviewed for the last chapter. Thanks again, and I would like opinions on this chapter too!

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><p>Life After Death<p>

Eric looked up at the Opera House that had used to be his home. Looking as new and fantastic as usual, it had its usual amount of grandeur and busyness. It looked so different, yet so familiar. He wondered if Box 5 still had the loose step, or if the corridor behind the painting of the Seine had been blocked off yet. And most importantly, what had they done to his home? Was the lake still there at least? They had most likely taken all the furniture and his life's work. He shuddered at the thought that his precious drawings might be in a trash heap somewhere. _At least I won't have to stumble on a picture of her. _Christine still haunted him; though he would never admit it. His emotions where torn between hatred, love, envy, and longing. Hatred for her betrayal. Love for her soul and voice. Envy for her ability to have a perfect, normal life. Longing for love. Maybe not her love, but anyone's love.

But Eric knew how to deal with pain, and he carefully hid his regret in the deepest part of his mind. A place he thought no one could reach. He silently walked to the cellar door in the back of the Opera House. It had been two years so he had decided to come back to the place he had loved so much. _Yes, loved so much, I destroyed it. _He was the reason it had been destroyed, and it haunted him. He slowly went down the narrow hallway until he came out into a long, dark passageway. It was one of the many tunnels leading around the basement. Eric shivered; he had not remembered it being so cold. There were cobwebs hanging from the rafters and they looked eerily pale and wispy in the candle light. _Am I really getting spooked by this? Eric, you are the only thing closest to a ghost that haunts this Opera. Except if Joseph Bouquet haunts the catacombs, waiting for the day he can place his cold hands around my ne- ERIC. You idiot. _

As he traveled down the halls he relished that the old symbols he had carved into the walls to keep from getting lost were still there. Faded, but still there. Laughing at the jokes he had played with the Opera staff, Eric touched them the way someone would touch a priceless artifact. While they had taken the red marks on the wall and the symbols of black magic to be horror signs, he just needed them to find his way around. It had come in handy when he had first vowed to know the Opera like the palm of his hand. He would have only been fifteen back then. _Wow. Time goes by fast. How many years have gone by? _

He had come to the Opera when he was fifteen, with the help of Antoinette. Then around fifteen years passed and he met Christine and fell in love twice. At the end of those fifteen years Christine left with the viscount. He would have been thirty. And now two more years have past and he was thirty two. _Thirty two, and in the prime of my life. Already heartbroken and heading nowhere, but I'm only thirty two. No job, no point in life. No one even knows I exist, except for people who I want to forget. _ He was planning on moving back to the theater and deciding whether or not to start his old hobby. Terrorizing the public, obsessing over music, possibly killing a couple people in the process, was all in a day's work. He came to the end of the tunnel and slipped into a hidden doorway. He came up to the cave entrance and a grin spread over his face.

Eric saw the lake, his lake looking as beautiful as ever. It was large, with stone pillars stretching out of the water to the ceiling. Its surface reflected the light from his candle and it shimmered in the firelight. The boat was gone, so Eric waded into the knee deep water. It was freezing and he shivered even more. It had gone down since he was last there so a boat wasn't entirely necessary anymore. _I couldn't care less about catching a cold, anyway. _

_The island better still be there._ He waded farther into the lake and came to his home. It did not show its former glory. It had been ransacked and pillaged since he left. There was barely any furniture left and the piano was gone. All of his artwork and musical papers were gone. He went up the steps and onto the balcony, caressing the carvings on the wall that he had slid past so many times. Looking at the empty space, that had never been cold and dark before made Eric feel sad. It was like part of his heart was missing.

He had no time to grieve. He had to make his presence known to a certain Opera employee. And make sure this generation of fools was going to run his beloved Opera properly.

He looked out from the rafters above the stage and watched the rehearsal. The new main soprano was decent; thank god she wasn't like Carlotta at all. He had read about her in the papers, what was her name… Margot, Mary, oh Marguerite de Tourney. She was actually quite good, though not very beautiful. _Oh, well not every singer has to be Christine. _Christine! Christine! Was everybody in this bloody place going to remind him of her?

Eric focused on finding a way to let Mademoiselle Giry that he was there. She was Meg, but a Meg grown up and hardened. She would have to have been hardened after her mother's death. _It figures, I'm gone for a couple of years and I never got to say goodbye. She'd been the only person to ever show me kindness._ He watched her daughter walk around the stage, instructing the actors and dancers. Eric sighed and decided he felt too tired to do something new. He untied the backdrop and sent it plummeting towards the stage. It crashes and scared the dancers and de Tourney. The letter fell peacefully down to the stage at Meg's feet. She picked it up and looked up. Eric was safely hidden away in the shadows. He watched as she looked at the seal; thank god he had been able to find his seal and writing supplies still at his home. It had been overlooked. Meg called to one of the stage hands and told him something quietly; as everybody went to help the fallen soprano and hoist up the backdrop. The stagehand left and he wondered where she had sent him. _I will have to arrange a meeting with her. I also should meet these new managers, before the next show opening. _ While he was traveling Europe he had missed seeing the shows and hearing the Opera play every night.

The stagehand returned, accompanied by a girl. _Who is she? _ She was wearing pants and seemed to be confused and annoyed. Who was she? Was she a ballerina, but then why wouldn't she have been dancing? If she was a singer, that did not explain her crude clothing. A stage hand or a servant maybe. But a girl stagehand was not too common. _I shall have to find out more about her, she intrigues me. _Of course Eric had no idea of actually meeting her, he didn't want to meet anybody except for Meg; and only because seeing her was essential. No other foolish girl was ever going to reach his heart. And he was certainly never again going to teach anyone music.

"It was just an accident, everyone. Everything is perfectly safe. But Robert and Antoine, please be more aware. Come on, let's get back to that scene," he heard Meg say and the commotion started again on stage. He heard the conversation between the girl and Meg,

"What's that?"

"A letter, nothing of importance. Elissa, you should go help them." Elissa. That was her name. A pretty name, though why did he feel like he had heard it somewhere before?

_I shall have to inquire about this Elissa_

Phantom rocks! Though Poor Heartbroken Eric. Please, I'm begging for you to push the little review button!


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